Fantasy Football
by Serialgal
Summary: A really silly oneshot in honor of Superbowl Sunday. The brothers play football. It's stupidity really.


_I do not own Numb3rs or any of the characters._

_To those of you who really understand football, I apologize in advance._

**Fantasy Football**

Don leaned back in the kitchen chair, and stretched. "Breakfast smells good, Dad, what is it?"

"A frittata," Alan answered, presiding over a skillet. "It's a recipe that was passed around at the book club meeting."

"Ooh, frittata," Don grinned. "Getting fancy on us, here." His eyes rested on Charlie, who was bent over a pile of papers, scribbling furiously.

Alan snorted. "That's not hard to do with someone that lives on pizza and frozen dinners."

Don grinned, and rubbed his face with both hands, then looked up suddenly as a thought occurred to him. "Oh, hey, I was going to tell you – our office picnic is next Sunday, if you want to come."

"Next Sunday, as in a week in a half from now?" asked Alan.

"Yeah."

Alan thought for a moment. "Yes I think I can. Is it potluck again?"

"Yeah, same as last year. They'll grill something and provide the drinks, and everyone is supposed to bring a dish. I've already had requests for your famous beans." He looked at Charlie. "What about you, Chuck?"

"Hmm?"

"You going?"

Charlie looked up blankly. "Going where?"

"Our office picnic."

Charlie frowned. "Your office is having a picnic?"

Don exchanged a bemused glance with his father. "Yeah, Charlie, it's the same one we have every year."

"I never went to any picnic."

"I know you didn't go, Chuck, you had seminars or something those weekends. I've invited you for the past two years."

Charlie bent over his papers. "When is it?" Don looked at Alan, exasperated.

"Next Sunday!"

Charlie looked up, affronted. "Okay, you don't have to yell. So where is it?"

"Beeghly Park. We have a cookout, play a little football-,"

Alan groaned. "Oh, that football game. I hope you're making it flag this year."

Don grinned. "Absolutely not. You think FBI agents are going to settle for flag football?"

Alan brought the skillet over to the table and started dishing up the frittata. Charlie poked at his tentatively with a fork, as if he expected it to crawl off his plate.

Alan sat and shook his head. "You'd think FBI agents would have a little more sense. You guys get more banged up during that game than you do all year on the job. The year before last, you cracked your ribs. Last year, you needed stitches. It's stupidity."

"It's a ritual of manhood," Don said grandly, grinning. He looked at Charlie who was bent over his papers again. "So, Chuck, are you going?"

"Hmm? Going where?" Don and Alan looked at each other and sighed, and picked up their forks.

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Charlie entered the FBI offices that afternoon, and made his way over to his brother and Colby, who were standing in the hallway, studying a paper tacked to the wall. Megan leaned back in her chair behind them, both hands on her coffee mug, listening to the conversation, with a sardonic smile.

"Hey, Don, I finished that analysis," said Charlie, peering over their shoulder. The paper on the wall was a list of signatures, with the words "Football Game Signup" block printed across the top.

"Good, Charlie, just give me a minute," said Don. He spoke to Colby. "So what do you think? Re-pick, or use the same teams as last year?"

"Same teams as last year," Colby replied with grin. "We gotta get you back."

"Big mistake on your part," Don smirked. "We're undefeated for the last two years. It's not gonna be any different this year."

Colby grinned back. "We'll just see about that."

Charlie had been fumbling around in his briefcase for a pen, and stepped up between them, pen poised over the list. Don pulled his arm down with a look of consternation. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Charlie looked at him blankly. "Signing up for the football game. You invited me."

"Charlie, I invited you to the _picnic._ You don't want to sign up for this."

"Why not?" Charlie grinned broadly. "You may not realize, but I was a star on our intramural flag football team at CalSci. I've got some moves."

"Yeah, moves on your calculator," Don teased. "How hard can it be to outmaneuver the physics department?"

Charlie looked at Don coolly, an eyebrow raised. "I don't need calculators. And I resent the implication that scientists and mathematicians are somehow automatically physically inferior to the rest of the population."

Don and Colby looked at each other, and Colby shook his head. "Better not go there," he said.

"Look, Charlie," said Don, patiently. "This is not flag football. This is brutal, down and dirty, tackle football, with no equipment. You wouldn't last a minute out there. Megan doesn't even play, and she can kick any one of our asses on a given day. Just forget it." He turned and headed for the conference room, followed by Colby. "Come on, let's see your analysis."

Charlie stood for a moment, irritation plain on his face. Megan watched him, looking after Don resentfully. Suddenly he turned, and signed his name to the paper with an angry flourish, and turned and stomped after them. Megan shook her head, and rolling her eyes, rose to her feet. "Brothers," she muttered.

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Don walked into the office the next morning and headed for the coffee pot. Colby and David were leaning against the cabinets talking, and looked up expectantly as Don came through the door. "So, did you talk him out of it?" asked Colby.

Don shook his head in disgust. "No, he's refusing to take his name off the list. We'll just have to stick him in a position, and keep him away from the ball."

"So you're taking him then?"

Don snorted. "Not if I can help it. Whoever gets him is basically going to be down a man. I figured we can draw straws." He grabbed two coffee stirrers and handed them to David. "Here, you do the honors."

David broke one of the straws in half, and turned away and placed them with just an end showing, and then turned back and offered them to Don and Colby. They grabbed at the same time.

"Aw, man," complained Colby, looking sadly at his piece of the straw. He looked at David accusingly. "That's not fair; you're on his team – that had to be fixed." David and Don exchanged a grin.

"Looks like you guys are going down again this year," smirked Don.

They filed out of the room, Colby shaking his head. '_I guess I'd better line up some practices_,' he thought. _'I think we're gonna need 'em."_

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It was a perfect afternoon for a picnic. Don had invited Larry and Amita as thanks for their assistance during the year, and they sat at a picnic table with Charlie, Megan and Alan. Amita, Charlie and Larry were in the middle of an animated discussion on differential analyses of velocities near the speed of light, and Alan rolled his eyes and smiled at Megan. "So are you having a good time?"

"Absolutely," she replied with a mischievous smile, leaning against Larry's shoulder. Larry gave her a distracted half smile, and turned back to the conversation, and Megan winked at Alan, who grinned back, shaking his head. He glanced up as Don approached, wearing a red T-shirt emblazoned with 'FBI' in large letters.

"Hey Donnie, have a seat."

"Nah, can't Dad, game's about to start." Alan shook his head, as Don flung a blue T-shirt unceremoniously at Charlie, who caught it, startled, half in his hand and half on his head. "Here's your T-shirt. Better get out there."

Alan looked from Don to Charlie, aghast. "What! Charlie, don't tell me you're playing in that insanity."

Charlie rose, grinning, and extricated his legs from under the picnic table. "You bet." He flung his T-shirt over his shoulder and trotted towards the field.

Alan turned to Don reproachfully. "How could you let him do this?" He looked towards the field. Charlie's slight figure was easy to pick out among the group, and Alan's stomach clenched anxiously.

Don held up his hands. "Look Dad, I told him not to sign up, and when he did anyway, I tried to talk him out of it. He wouldn't listen. Anyway, don't worry, Colby's not going to give him the ball, and I'm going to tell my guys to go easy on him. Relax; it's just a football game." He turned and loped out to the field.

Amita rolled her eyes at Megan. "Men," she said sarcastically. Megan grinned.

"Don't paint all of us with the same brush," protested Larry. "Not all of us give in to our base Neanderthal tendencies."

"That's a shame," teased Megan, looking at him sideways with wicked smile.

Larry blushed and rubbed the top of his head with an embarrassed grin. "Well, at least not in all regards."

Amita suppressed a smile with difficulty. They looked at Alan, who was frowning at the football field. "Stupidity," he muttered.

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Charlie stood in the middle of the group of players, stripping off his shirt and pulling on the blue FBI T-shirt, listening to the banter.

"Hey, we got a real football this year. Who brought this?"

"I did. $49.99 at Clarks, real NFL issue. Nothing but the best for you, Billy."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's just hope you brought your best game."

They all obviously knew each other from previous years; they had developed a history and camaraderie. Charlie felt a little awkward and out-of-place, and a sudden painful recollection of being picked last for dodge-ball, or for that matter, being picked last for everything, rose up in his mind. He felt a powerful hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Colby grinning at him. "You ready, whiz kid? Let's show 'em how it's done."

They only had twenty players, so each team played a man short. The team was composed primarily of FBI personnel, but a few of the more talented local LAPD people were also regular players each year. Don's team was in red, Colby's in blue. They flipped a coin, and Colby's team got to receive the kickoff. Don's team clustered together before the start.

"Okay, we all have our positions, we all know the plays," stated Don. "Colby's team is basically playing down a man, because of Charlie. We can capitalize on that. Colby's got one fast guy, that's Pete – he'll probably get the kickoff return. I need you to do me a favor – it'll keep my dad happy. Charlie won't be getting the ball, but if he gets mixed up in the middle of the action, go easy on him, okay?" The other agents nodded. "All right, guys, let's go for a three-peat."

Just as Don had predicted, Pete got the kick-off return, and ran it back to the 35 yard line. Colby's team huddled; then lined up with Colby at center, across from David. Charlie was off to the side, almost to the sideline, Don noted with satisfaction, as he took his position as middle linebacker. Josh Wilkins was playing quarterback for Colby, and at the snap, he handed the ball off to Pete, who managed 4 yards before he was brought down by Don and a lineman. Don stood up and looked around for Charlie, and spotted him trotting back from the red team's thirty yard line. '_How in the heck did he get all the way back there?' _wondered Don fleetingly, then nodded to himself approvingly. _'Good strategy by Colby, sending Charlie downfield out of the way.'_

Colby pulled his team into the huddle. "Okay, we're going to run the reverse, with a fake to Charlie." He grinned at Charlie. "You ready for this?" Charlie nodded. "Let's go," said Colby.

They lined up, and Don's eyes narrowed as he picked out Charlie standing behind the line, near the quarterback. He looked to the side, and saw Pete lined up near the side line. "Hey, guys," he called to his team. "They're gonna pass."

Josh took the snap, but instead of dropping back to pass, appeared to hand it off to -"Charlie?" said Don in disbelief. A few of his men had gone after Pete, but Don and most of the rest of them headed after Charlie, who was streaking towards the left, and curving around the end of the line. It took a moment for them to realize that Charlie didn't have the ball, and looking around wildly, they spied it with Josh, who by then had crossed the fifty yard line. They ran to head him off, going down in a wild tangle of arms and legs, and Don got up wincing, with a gash in his leg. He looked up sourly to see Charlie standing there with a concerned look on his face.

"You okay?" asked Charlie, eyeing the blood dripping down his brother's shin with feigned innocence.

"Never better," snapped Don.

Charlie grinned. "That would be a first down."

"Yeah, I figured that out." Giving Colby a dark look, Don limped over to his team.

The blue team huddled again. "Okay," said Colby. "We go with the handoff, but this time for real. We fake to Pete, Charlie gets the ball." He trotted back to center, and hunkered down in front of David.

David glared at him. "That was pretty sneaky, using Charlie as bait, but you can only fool us once. You're going down this time, brother." Colby grinned in return.

Don eyed the line-up. Charlie and Pete were both back, he noted. His team members' heads were up, looking towards the backfield. They saw it too. Colby hiked the ball, and Josh turned around with it as Pete and Charlie crossed behind him, Pete headed right, and Charlie swinging left again. Don glanced at Charlie. '_We aren't falling for that again,' _he smirked to himself as he ran to head off Pete – who didn't have the ball. He pivoted around to see Charlie headed up the sideline with the football, with a red team member closing in from the backfield to cut him off, pushing him out of bounds at the twenty.

Charlie stumbled but kept his balance, and pulled up right in front of his father, who was standing on the sidelines glowering.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" asked Alan.

Charlie turned, panting, with a grin on his face. "Playing football?" he guessed.

"You weren't supposed to get the ball!" Alan yelled after him, as Charlie ran back out on the field, and gave Colby a high five.

Don pulled his team together, sending Colby a nasty look. The player that had pushed Charlie out of bounds looked at them an apologetically. "I could have brought him down earlier," he said, "but you said go easy, so I didn't want to tackle him. I had to wait till I could get close enough to push him out." He shook his head. "Damn he's fast, who would have thought it?" Don shot him a look, and he clamped his mouth shut.

"All right," snapped Don. "All bets are off. Forget about what I said about going easy on Charlie." The other players shifted uncomfortably and looked at each other. Don rolled his eyes. "I don't mean kill him. You can tackle him though. If he's gonna get the ball, he's gonna have to deal with it. Now let's tighten up. They made it down to our twenty in three plays." Clapping their hands, they went back to the line.

David went into his stance and looked across at Colby. "Don just gave us the green light to hit Charlie."

Colby raised his eyebrows, but winced internally. He had just called a play that had Charlie sneaking up the middle. He looked at David. "So he'll be pissed if you hurt him, and pissed if you don't hit him."

David grimaced. "Basically."

"Good luck with that."

They hiked the ball, and Josh faked to Pete; then handed off to Charlie, who headed straight up the middle. It was definitely unexpected, but the red team was now expecting the unexpected. Alan had been joined at the sidelines by Megan, Larry and Amita, and was pacing back and forth. He stopped in his tracks as he saw Charlie make a few nice dodges and go down in a pile of bodies. Amita winced, and they watched as the pile broke up and saw Charlie slowly totter to his feet, and stagger a bit. Alan groaned as he took in the tackle, and shook his head at his other son's blood covered shin. "Why do they do this to me?" he muttered.

Charlie had taken a cleat to the side of his head as he went down, and got up feeling woozy. He staggered sideways a bit, then caught himself and shook his head to clear it. He looked up to find Don watching him.

His brother smiled. "A little different than flag football, isn't it?" His expression softened and he looked at Charlie with concern. "You can quit any time, you know."

Charlie had recovered enough to generate a sarcastic grin. "Why would I do that? You're the one that's bleeding all over the field. I'm fine." He trotted off, tossing the ball to Colby.

The red team had adjusted, and the blue team's running game was beginning to stall. Charlie had only gotten three yards on that play, and Pete's attempt on the next down only netted two more. It was third and five, and Colby knew he had to change tactics.

He called a pass play, sending out both Charlie and Pete as receivers, and Josh hit Pete for a pass, who went down at the ten yard line.

Colby grinned at his group. "Okay, guys, we have a first down, and I think they'll be expecting the run, so we're gonna pass again. Pete will head for the end zone; Charlie, you go behind him to about the three. Josh will hit whoever's open."

Don watched them line up, Pete out to the right side, and Charlie in the backfield. He set his jaw grimly. "Okay guys; let's hold 'em." The ball was snapped, and Don saw Pete heading for the end zone, and Josh dropping back. "Pass!" he yelled. The red team converged on Pete, which left Charlie open at the three. Josh lobbed him the ball as softly as he could, and Colby held his breath; Charlie was fast but he couldn't catch worth a darn. Charlie got his hands on the ball, bobbled it for a moment, and then clutched it to his chest. The red team members turned, but they were just a few yards too far way, and they watched Charlie dance into the end zone unopposed, ball raised in a victory salute. The blue team mobbed him, pounding him on the back, as he headed past Don, who was planted to the spot with a look of disbelief on his face.

Charlie flashed him a cocky grin. "Hey bro, what were you saying about outmaneuvering the physics department? They make you guys look like a bunch of girls." The red team exchanged dark glances, and Don glowered. "This means war," he muttered.

Colby pulled Charlie aside as they headed back to line up for the extra point attempt. "Hey, don't get too cocky, whiz kid. You'd better watch the trash talk. These guys take this game kind of seriously."

Charlie glanced at him with amusement. "It's just a game."

"Yeah, well, don't tell your brother that."

Much to Colby's dismay, the blue team kicker, who had actually played football in college, kicked the ball wide, and they had to settle for six points. As they headed back to midfield, Don caught Charlie grinning at him again, and he sent him a sour look. If anyone had told Don at the beginning of the game they would be losing at this point, he would have been surprised. If they had told them they would be losing because of Charlie, he would have had them committed. This situation was going to have to change.

The game turned nasty as the half went on. Don's team received the kickoff, and made it clear they were bent on retribution, and embarked on a hard-hitting running game. The tackles got uglier, the hits more vicious. Most of the players were now sporting cuts and bruises. Don had scratches on his arms to go with the gash on his leg. Charlie, on the other hand, was relatively unscathed. Colby had him and Pete each covering one of the red team receivers, and since the red team wasn't passing, they spent each play running out with the receivers, away from the tackles.

Charlie jogged back up the line after a particularly nasty tackle, and watched Don getting slowly to his feet, checking his elbow. Charlie planted his feet in front of his brother and grinned. "Maybe you're getting a little too old for this. Don't worry, it's almost half time."

Don gave him a little shove in the shoulder. "You just watch out for yourself, smart guy."

"No problems here." Actually he had a nasty lump on the side of his head, but it was hidden by his hair, and he was not about to admit it to Don. He grinned and trotted back to the line, and Don watched him go, speculating.

Don approached the huddle. "Okay guys, we're second and long right now; we're coming to the end of the half, and we need a score. I think it's time to air it out." He turned to Bill Perkins, his quarterback. "Let's try a long one to Charlie's side."

They lined up, and Colby took a look at the formation. "Pass," he yelled, getting nods from Charlie and Pete. Charlie lined up across from the red receiver and promptly ignored him, turning his attention to the quarterback. The receiver sprinted past him at the snap; Charlie paused for just a split second and headed downfield slightly on a diagonal. The receiver reached his turning point and made a hard right, to find that Charlie had gotten there ahead of him and was reaching for the ball; only to fumble it.

They both ran back to their teams, shaking their heads in disgust.

The receiver jogged up to the red huddle complaining, "How did he do that? It's like he knew the where the ball would end up."

"He probably did," said Don. "Knowing Charlie, he calculated some kind of trajectory by looking at the quarterback." At their speculative looks, he said, "No, I'm not kidding. Look, let's try it again, but don't run any patterns. Just get directly to the reception point." He looked at the receiver. "You're a head taller than he is. You don't need to fake him out, just don't let him get in front of you on a low one." They went into formation, and Don grinned as he glanced at Charlie. This could be interesting.

Five plays later, Don was convinced of it. He had set up a long pass to Charlie's side each play. Three of them hadn't worked- Charlie managed to get in the way enough to break two of them up, and on one play, Colby had made it through the line to sack the quarterback. Two of the passes had worked, however; Charlie and his receiver had both gone up for the ball, and it was no contest; Charlie couldn't overcome the receiver's superior height. Both times, Charlie managed to bring the receiver down on the spot, mostly by getting tangled up with him, but it was still a big gain. The red team was now on the 25 yard line, and Colby was powerless to stop it; only Charlie and Pete were fast enough to keep up with Don's receivers, and if he pulled Pete off his man to help, he knew the red team would pass to that open man. Don was compounding the problem by switching his receivers every other play, putting a comparatively fresh man in front of Charlie each time.

Charlie trotted back up to the line, exhausted after yet another all-out sprint, and shot Colby a glance of desperation as he put his hands on his knees, chest heaving. He turned his head toward the red team line, saw Don's amused grin, and rolled his eyes as he put his head down, trying to focus on keeping his breakfast from coming up. The red team was mightily enjoying his discomfort and lobbed a few jabs his way. "Charlie, ya having fun yet?"

"Hey Charlie, you'd better head to the sideline for some oxygen."

Don pulled his team together. "Okay guys, we have time for one more play." He looked at his receiver. "Pass play again on Charlie's side – I don't think he has a whole lot left. Head for the end zone – don't screw this up, we need this score."

"Seven seconds remaining in the half!" yelled the timekeeper.

'_Thank God,' _thought Charlie as he grimly went into his stance, looking up as the receiver trotted to the line and took his place across from him. Charlie was up and looking at the quarterback at the snap, and realized immediately he was targeting the end zone on Charlie's side. He raced the receiver back, his heart in his throat. Unfortunately for the red team, the throw was a little short of the end zone, and Charlie turned a little earlier than the receiver, finding the pass headed right toward him with the receiver behind him.

_Thunk._ The ball hit him in the chest, but the receiver hit him almost simultaneously in the back, and they went somersaulting over each other. As they flipped over in a tangle, the receiver caught Charlie with his cleat - in the head again, in almost the same spot as before, and he saw stars, but clung desperately to the ball. When his vision cleared he was on the four yard line, still clutching the ball, with the receiver on top of him. He rose to his feet shakily, a slow loopy grin coming to his face as his team surrounded him, peppering him with pats on the back.

The half ended; the score still six-zero. They straggled off the field, headed for the sidelines and water, Don shaking his head in disgust. He had added an elbow to the face to his list of injuries, and was tentatively touching a fat lip. Charlie didn't look much better, he thought, as he glanced at his brother. He was covered with scratches and bruises, including a nasty one on his jaw, and blood was trickling from under his hair on the left side of his neck. Someone was standing in front of Don as he came to the sideline, and looking up, he saw his father, arms crossed with a disapproving look on his face. Don suddenly felt twelve again. "Just what do you think you're doing?" asked Alan.

"Playing football?" guessed Don.

'_I need to rephrase that question,' _thought Alan to himself. "You know, it's bad enough you put yourself through this every year, but Charlie's not prepared for this. What happened to going easy on him?"

Don sighed tiredly. "Well, Dad, I really didn't expect Colby to play him. He ended up being a lot faster than we realized. I don't blame Colby for using him."

"And your excuse for passing to him every play would be what?"

Charlie walked up as his father spoke, and joined in, his eyes narrowed. "Yeah, what is your excuse?"

Don looked at his father, trying to remain serious, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face. "It was just too much fun to watch you running your ass off. I couldn't pass it up."

Charlie sent him a nasty grin. "Didn't do you much good now, did it?"

Alan shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You two are unbelievable. You're behaving like children." He turned toward Charlie as he spoke, and gasped when he saw the blood trailing down his neck, reaching out instinctively for his son's head. "Charlie, you're bleeding."

Charlie batted Alan's hand away impatiently. "I'm fine, Dad, it's just a scratch." He walked away toward the water station, wiping his neck, following Don, who had already slunk off in that direction. Megan and Amita were handing out water bottles from a cooler, and Amita studied Charlie appraisingly as he trudged up and grinned at her. He was covered in dirt, sweat and blood, and she wrinkled her nose at him. "Not one of your better looks," she said, "or smells, for that matter." She gingerly held out a water bottle to him and he took it, grinning, and turned back to the field, gulping it down. Megan and Amita watched him go. "I really don't see the point of this," sighed Amita.

"I'm not sure there is one," said Megan, smiling.

The red team got the kickoff at the start of the second half. Both teams were now down a man; two of them had gone off to the emergency room. A blue team member hobbled off with a sprained ankle, sporting a swelling the size of an orange, and one of the red team members followed soon after, on his way to get stitches in a partially torn off ear. Don felt a little clutch of desperation in his gut - a whole half had gone by and his team had failed to score. He would not, could not, let Colby win this thing.

They made a good return, and ran the ball back to their forty before they were stopped. Don started out with the same strategy as before, namely to run his brother into the ground. It wasn't quite as effective as before; his receivers were also getting winded in spite of switching off, his quarterback's arm was getting tired from heaving one long pass after another, and they were getting sloppy, which played in the blue team's favor. In spite of that, they gradually drove the ball down the field. Late in the third quarter, the red team had made it down to the twenty, almost solely on passes to Charlie's side.

Charlie clambered to his feet after the latest pass, gasping and wheezing. A wave of nausea hit and he ran, staggering to the sideline, where he promptly lost the bottle of water he drank at the half, along with his dignity. Alan, Megan, Larry and Amita were watching from the sideline, and Alan put his hand over his face. Amita wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Oh, _nice,_ Charlie," she said sarcastically. Larry and Megan exchanged glances.

"I certainly hope Charles is not counting on his performance on the football field to enhance his romantic prospects," whispered Larry.

"She does seem less than impressed," murmured Megan, glancing at Amita.

The red team finally scored toward the beginning of the fourth quarter, and managed to run it in for a two point conversion, making the score 8-6. The tables were turned, and Colby could see victory slipping away.

Hope flared again at the kickoff. Pete ran the ball back to nearly the fifty, and both teams settled in for a dog fight to the finish. The hits were getting truly vicious, and out of sympathy for Charlie, Colby tried to keep him out of most of the plays, using him as a decoy instead of a ball carrier. After a few plays, however, his strategy had become apparent, and he had no choice but to give Charlie the ball to keep the other team off guard. He winced at a particularly nasty pile-up with Charlie at the bottom of it. Charlie got up slowly, but he shook it off, and picked up lead legs to trot back to the huddle. '_Got to hand it to him,'_ thought Colby. '_The little guy's tougher than I gave him credit for.'_

At the moment, Charlie felt anything but tough. He was exhausted, he hurt everywhere, and he was starting to second-guess his decision to play. He had signed up largely just because he hated being told he couldn't, which he had to admit was a poor basis for a decision. To top it off, Don's team was ahead, and he knew if the red team won, he would never hear the end of it. _'I've never beaten him at any sport in my life,'_ he thought with disgust. _'What on earth made me think this would be any different?'_ Sighing, he joined the huddle.

"Okay, we just ran one with Charlie, and they won't be expecting him to get it again, so that's what we're going to do," said Colby. He looked at Charlie. "You okay with that?"

"Sure," said Charlie without conviction.

"Okay," said Colby. "We need five yards, here. Let's see some blocking, line." They lined up, and at the snap, faked to Pete, who took off to the right, drawing much of the red team line that way. The blue team blockers hit the left and center hard, opening up a hole for Charlie, who squirted through. Only one player stood between him and a first down, and his eyes widened as he saw his brother bearing down on him.

He twisted away as Don reached out, grabbing the front of his T-shirt. They were both off-balance, and only a yard away from the down mark. Charlie used his momentum to pull towards the line as Don stumbled, and they went crashing down over the mark together. Charlie heard a rip as the front of his T-shirt tore in Don's grasp, and his knee connected sharply with his brother's face.

Charlie scrambled to his feet with a grin, as his team shouted their approval. Don rose slowly, but remained doubled over, his hand over his right eye. "Jesus, Charlie, you have got to have the boniest knees on the planet," he complained.

David peered at Don, as he slowly straightened. "Let's see it." Don pulled his hand away to reveal a small cut on his brow bone, and an eye that was already swelling. David shook his head. "Oh, yeah, that's going to be a nice shiner. Can you see okay?" Charlie's grin faded at the last question.

Don covered his left eye, and squinted out of his right to see Charlie peering anxiously at him. "Yeah. It's okay. Relatively speaking." He glared at Charlie, who had sighed in relief. "I owe you one, you little twerp."

"Yeah, you do," Charlie grinned. He plucked at the front of his ruined shirt, which was torn halfway down the front and sporting a blood stain from a fresh gouge in his chest. "You owe me a T-shirt."

Don had turned and started stalking towards his team. He pivoted around, walking backwards and pointed a finger at Charlie. "I sprung for that T-shirt – you owe _me_ twenty bucks."

The game continued, and tensions were escalating. Colby's team drove for a few more yards, eating up several more minutes on the clock. There were only two minutes left, and the blue team had made it down to the red team's twenty-five. Colby tried running the ball for the next two downs, and got nowhere, and managed to eat up much of the clock in the process. He wanted a few more yards to give his kicker a clean shot at a field goal, and decided on a short pass play to Pete before he made the attempt.

It was a fateful decision. At the snap, two defenders converged on Pete, and one on Charlie, and David broke past Colby. Josh scrambled backwards, still looking for an open man, and seeing David coming, tried to twist out of the way, but David caught him by the shirt and brought him down at the forty. A field goal attempt was now an unlikely prospect at best; with the yardage added from the snap, the kick attempt would be closer to the fifty. The red team exploded, jumping, exchanging chest butts and hand slaps, as the blue team dragged back to the huddle.

"How much time?" yelled Colby to the timekeeper.

"Ten seconds!"

Colby rolled his eyes and sighed. "Well guys, I think it's Hail Mary time." He looked at Charlie, Pete and Josh. "It's down to you guys. They're gonna know it's coming. Just give it your best shot." He looked at his linemen. "You guys know what to do. We have to make enough time for Charlie and Pete to get to the zone and for Josh to get his pass off."

Charlie lined up left, and Pete right. The lines faced each other, each player's eyes reflecting the intensity of his opponent's. At the snap, Pete and Charlie raced for the end zone. Several defenders dropped back with them, knowing that a long pass was coming. The two fastest red team defenders converged on Pete, figuring he was the bigger threat, knowing that Charlie had ball handling issues. Charlie saw an opening towards the center, and swerved, turning just before the goal line. Pete was in the end zone behind him, well-covered by two defenders, but Josh aimed for him anyway, figuring that Pete would find some way to get open.

Josh heaved the ball, a mighty attempt, but his arm was tired, and he under-threw the mark. Charlie's eyes widened and his heart pounded; the ball was headed straight toward him. Don, a few feet away and the closest defender to Charlie, saw it too. He was a step or two too far away to try to intercept; the best he could do was to try to hit Charlie hard enough that he knocked the ball loose.

The ball was coming in higher than Charlie thought, and he back-pedaled a few steps into the end zone and leaped up, grabbing for the ball with both hands, and managed to bring it down to his chest, feet still off the ground, just as Don drove in head-first. He had meant to hit Charlie in the chest, but as Charlie leapt, the top of Don's head connected hard with Charlie's stomach, sending him airborne. Charlie felt a sharp pain in his stomach and felt the air leave his body, and he executed an impressive flip over Don's back, flying through the air with his body perfectly straight, and landing flat on his back in the end zone with a thud that could be heard across the field. A collective '_Ooh'_ rose from the onlookers, and for a moment, no one moved except for Don, who spun around wildly, shocked at the sight of his brother on the ground.

Charlie lay stunned for a moment, then realizing he still had the ball, lifted it up in the air from where he lay. Someone screamed, "Touchdown!" and the blue team suddenly erupted, and ran forward to Charlie, who was struggling to sit up, and lifted him on their shoulders. His stomach was killing him, but he had gotten his breath back, and managed a shaky smile, and then a broader grin as he realized the game was over.

Don watched, stunned, as the blue team carted his little brother to the sidelines, laughing and yelling like madmen. He groaned and rubbed his hand over his face, and groaned again as he hit his eye, which was by now nearly swollen shut. _'Between Charlie and Colby, I will never live this down,'_ he thought morosely. '_I'll have to listen to this for an entire year.'_ He shuffled slowly off the field after David, who had wisely left Don to his thoughts.

Alan had watched the end of the game with trepidation, which quickly turned to panic when he saw Charlie hit the ground. As he watched his younger son grinning broadly on the shoulders of his teammates, he began to relax. He thought about how many times Don had been in that situation, especially in his baseball years, and a reluctant smile crept to his face. '_This has to be a first for Charlie,'_ he thought, and then, _'Thank God, that's over.'_

Amita, Larry and Megan began to drift back to the picnic table, and Alan headed for Don, who was holding a cold water bottle to his eye. Charlie was propelled to a picnic table set up as a makeshift bar, and fended off numerous offers for a beer, opting instead for iced tea. He made his way over to the table, unable to wipe the grin off his face, and plunked down next to Amita, grunting in pain as he sat. She eyed him dubiously. He was covered in dust, which had turned to mud where it mixed with blood and sweat, and was marked everywhere with scratches and bruises. His torn T-shirt flapped on his chest when he moved.

"Wow, Charlie, that was quite a show," said Megan smiling.

"The defiance of Newton's Laws certainly made for some interesting gymnastics," said Larry, his eyes twinkling.

Charlie grinned back. "Yeah, it didn't feel too good, though. Remind me not to challenge Isaac in the future." He glanced toward Don, taking a long drink of his tea. "I have to admit, victory is sweet."

Amita shook her head. "You definitely don't smell sweet." She got up from the table, making a face, and stalked off. "I'm heading downwind." Charlie looked after her; eyebrows raised, then grinned and shrugged, turning back to Megan and Larry.

Megan rose, also. "I'm going to go find some food. Are you guys ready?"

Larry and Charlie made faces simultaneously. "I'm afraid there are not many comestibles in the white category," said Larry. "You go ahead, though." He turned to Charlie. "Charles, I've been meaning to ask you about some calculations related to vibration," he began.

Nearly two hours and several iced teas later, the conversation was still going, in spite of many congratulatory interruptions. Charlie was listening, but he was starting to lose focus. He felt a little guilty about not spending any time with Amita. '_Not that she wants to be around me right now.' _He glanced around, still nodding at Larry, and shivered.

The sun was starting to set, but the picnic was still going strong. Some of the revelers had had a few too many beers, and raucous laughter floated across the tables. He spotted Amita, talking to a group of the FBI wives, and his father, who was standing with Don. He wasn't feeling all that well; his head and his stomach hurt and he was dizzy and tired, and he felt a sudden urge to go seek out his father and head for home. He turned back to Larry, and grabbed the table as Larry's face suddenly blurred in front of him.

"Charles, is something wrong?" asked Larry, frowning slightly.

"You know, Larry, I don't feel that well," said Charlie. He rose unsteadily to his feet.

"I can imagine not, after six iced teas," smiled Larry, standing. "I need to get going myself. I'll just go find Megan." He spotted her, and headed off in her direction.

Charlie walked unsteadily between some vacant picnic tables. He suddenly felt lightheaded, and was having a hard time concentrating. Where was he going again? He spied Amita, and staggered in her direction. Some of the red team members saw him weaving, and yelled, laughing, "Hey Don, I think your little brother had a few too many."

Amita turned at that, and seeing Charlie behind her, stepped away from the group of women to face him. Charlie grinned as her face came into focus. He had completely forgotten what he had come over there for. "You're beautiful," he said, swaying back and forth.

"Charlie, are you drunk?"

"Nope. Just iced tea." He smiled at her. What was he here for? His father, he remembered suddenly. Need to go home. He started to turn away, and tipped, catching his balance with an effort.

"You are too," hissed Amita, reddening, as she looked around. Several people were staring at Charlie in amusement, and she scowled. "You know, I've had enough. I'll see you tomorrow." She slung her purse over her shoulder and stalked away, Charlie watching her go with confusion on his face.

He turned with an effort and saw his father and Don a few yards away, standing near a group at the bar. Don was watching him with a grin, and his father turned to look at him with surprise. Charlie slowly started to make his way toward them, but his feet weren't working right, and the dizziness was getting worse. Suddenly Don was in front of him. Charlie stared, mesmerized by his brother's eye, which was now swollen shut.

Don turned and yelled back to the bartender, grinning. "Hey Mike, what've you been giving my brother?"

"Iced tea. A bunch of 'em – the regular kind, not the drink."

"No alcohol?"

"No – unless he was spiking them himself."

Don looked up at Larry and Megan, who had come up behind Charlie, then back at his brother, his smile fading a little, knowing the answer to the question even as he asked it. "Charlie, did you put anything in your iced tea?"

"I can vouch for that," said Larry. "He was with me the whole time – he didn't put anything in it. He did seem exceedingly thirsty."

Charlie watched his brother's face blur and waver, and his father's face appear and float behind Don. He looked at Don pleadingly. "Don' feel sa'good," he slurred. His eyes rolled backwards, and he slumped. Don grabbed his arms and eased him to a sitting position, concern on his face.

"Charlie, what is it? Is it your head?"

Charlie looked at him for a moment, trying to form words; then closed his eyes, finally conceding to the darkness that was taking over his vision.

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Don and Alan sat in chairs along the wall of the waiting area of the emergency room, waiting silently, faces tense. David had already gone home from the picnic, but Colby, Megan and Larry had followed them, and were standing in a cluster at the end of the hall.

Colby made his way over, and sat heavily in the chair next to Don.

He looked sideways at Don and Alan, his face filled with regret. "Hey, I just wanted you to know I'm sorry – I shouldn't have put him in the middle of the game – it's just – he seemed okay, a little beat up, but nothing bad, and -," he stopped rambling as Don held up his hand.

"Colby, it's okay; he seemed okay to the rest of us too. Whatever's wrong, it's not your fault. We don't even know what it is yet – he didn't eat anything all day, maybe he just bottomed out." He looked up as a nurse in scrubs stopped in front of them.

"Are you waiting to be seen?" she asked, looking at Don.

"No, I'm here for my brother – he's in room three."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, flustered. "It's just that –," she paused, looking for a polite way to put it.

Alan looked at his older son, and finished the sentence. "He looks like he's gone too many rounds in the ring with Holyfield?" Don was a mess, he mused. He was covered in dirt, bruises and scratches, the gash on his leg was still oozing blood, his lip was fat and misshapen, and his eye, the crowning glory, was deep purple and swollen completely shut.

"You really should get that leg stitched and get someone to look at that eye," she continued, with a sympathetic smile. "Can I ask what happened?"

"Football game," muttered Don. He was beginning to wish they had never come up with the idea of a game.

"Oh," she said, a look of surprise on her face. "We had two other people in here this afternoon that were hurt in a football game."

"Let me guess," said Colby. "Sprained ankle and an ear injury?"

"Oh my gosh, was this the same game? Are you kidding me?" she looked at them in amazement. "And why do you do this?"

"They're idiots," retorted Alan with disgust. His head whipped around at sudden commotion coming from room three. The staff that was working on Charlie burst out of the room, pushing his stretcher down the hall at a run. Alan, Don and Colby leapt to their feet as an intern broke off from the group and ran towards them.

"What's going on?" asked Alan frantically, as Megan and Larry ran up to the group.

"They're bringing him up to the OR. It's internal bleeding – we think it's his spleen. Can you sign this approval for surgery?" The intern thrust a clipboard at Alan, and he took it, signing with shaking hands.

Don had paled. "Internal bleeding?"

The intern looked at him. "Yes. Apparently he suffered a blow to his abdomen. We think we caught it in time – he should be fine, but he may lose his spleen."

Don's felt the room spin, and his knees gave out. He felt hands guiding him into a chair. '_I did that to him,'_ he thought, overwhelmed by the suddenly sickening memory of tackling Charlie in the end zone. His vision slowly cleared, and he looked at the ring of faces peering at him anxiously. "I'm okay," he said, waving them away impatiently, fighting a rising wave of nausea. He stood suddenly, and bolted for the restroom. Colby glanced at Alan, who looked torn between Don and the intern, then held up his hand, and followed Don in.

The intern exchanged glances with the nurse. "You may want to get him checked out too. I need to go up." He spoke to Alan. "There's a waiting area for the OR on the third floor. If you wait there, someone will come out to talk to you."

999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999999

Three hours later, Don and Alan stood in the hallway outside of Charlie's room, waiting for the staff to situate him. Charlie had come through the surgery well and had gone through recovery, and had even spoken to them as they wheeled him out. Don had waited the whole three hours steeped in abject misery, and as angry as Alan was over the fact that a stupid game was the cause of all this, he did not have the heart to complain about it. Don was beating himself up enough over it, he thought. They looked up as some of the staff filed out, and a nurse came to the door.

"You can come in now," she said. "He lost some blood, so we are giving him a couple of units, and he's still a bit groggy. We just gave him pain medication, so don't be disturbed if he seems a little out of it. He's actually doing very well."

They stepped into the room, and Alan went immediately to Charlie's side. Don hung back, miserable, contemplating his feet. He expected his brother to be angry and upset, and he had every right to be, he thought. He heard Charlie address his father – he certainly didn't sound upset, and Don lifted his head cautiously. Charlie was pale, but he was beaming; the grin was a little goofy and probably the product of the pain medication, but at least he was smiling.

"Hey Donnie," said Charlie cheerfully. "How ya' doing?"

"Good, Charlie," said Don quietly, moving next to Alan. "How are you doing?"

"Great," beamed Charlie. He focused on the nurse, who was quietly moving around his bedside, adjusting the IV lines and the bed controller. "Hey, how much does all this cost?" he asked her, slurring his words slightly.

She looked at him, confused. "All of what?"

"The sur-ger-y," said Charlie slowly, still grinning, as if explaining it to a child.

Alan frowned. "Charlie, you have insurance, you don't need to worry about it."

"How much?" insisted Charlie, waving his arm around grandly, with a loopy grin. In spite of himself, Don had to smile. He felt the tension dissolving just a bit, and he could see his father relax also, as he turned to Don with his eyebrows raised and a small smile on his own face.

"Well, I don't work in billing," said the nurse slowly, "But very roughly, probably around $12,000."

"Okay," said Charlie, with the word coming out as 'Ogay.' He lifted his chin and smiled at the ceiling. "One T-shirt - twenty dollars." Don and Alan looked at each other in confusion.

"Charlie, it's okay," said Don. "Don't worry about the T-shirt – I've got it."

Charlie ignored him, continuing. "One NFL issue football - $49.99." Alan looked at Don, who shrugged, with a wry smile.

"One emergenshy surgery - $12,000," slurred Charlie, still grinning at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and smiled dreamily.

"Beating your big brother at football – priceless."

Don opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't come up with the words. His mouth still ajar, he looked at his father, as if expecting an answer. Alan rolled his eyes and groaned, putting his hand to his forehead.

"Stupidity," he muttered.

-------------------------------------------Finis-------------------------------------------------------


End file.
